


Painted Skies

by UtterPandamonium



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Android Hank, Angst and Humor, Dark Humor, Father-Son Relationship, Human Connor, Mental Health Issues, Soft Connor (Detroit: Become Human), caleb will fight you, connor's so done and also very confused, he's just very quiet and tired, reverse au, soft nines
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-20
Updated: 2018-10-27
Packaged: 2019-08-04 16:09:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16349822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UtterPandamonium/pseuds/UtterPandamonium
Summary: Connor Stern doesn't particularly enjoy being around androids, so learning that he will be expected to work with one for an extended period of time is somewhat distressing. Still. He's a professional. He should be able to handle this.It'd be easier if the android in question didn't seem so human.





	1. Chapter 1

This letter is almost certainly the fanciest thing to ever grace his dingy hole-in-the-wall mailbox. The envelope is thick, clearly high-quality, and someone’s written his name in huge, swooping blue handwriting on the front—which, upon further inspection, actually appears to be calligraphy. Hm.

Frowning bemusedly, Connor reaches in, carefully picking it up from atop the small, innocuous package underneath it (which is the only reason he’d bothered to check this in the first place: who sends letters nowadays?) and examines it more closely. This is the most pretentious-looking thing he’s ever seen. Awkwardly, he flips it over. A wax seal? What kind of self-centered egomaniac would send him something like this?

When he opens it, the word “Cyberlife” greets him.

Oh. Of course. That’s the kind of self-centered egomaniac who would send him something like this. In retrospect, he should have figured this out sooner. Tossing the envelope irritably back in the mailbox, he scrambles for his phone, stabbing accusatorily at the screen, then lifts it to his ear. It picks up after the first ring. “Hello?” she greets.

“Hi, it’s Connor,” he absentmindedly tells her—and then winces, because she knows that, of **course**. Who else would be calling from this phone? She wouldn’t have picked up if she didn’t know who he was. “Can you pass the phone to Elijah? He just sent me…” Connor squints at the letter. “Something about an investigation.” Or that’s what this letter appears to be detailing, at least.

There’s a pause. “Hello, Connor,” Elijah hums, syrupy amusement dripping from his voice. “What can I do for you?’

The letter crumples in his hands. “What the fuck are you doing, Kamski.”

Immediately, the man’s laughing. “Swearing doesn’t suit you, Connor,” he blithely comments, that smug assurance still audible in his voice. “I mean, sorry, I know you’re trying to intimidate me, but swearing just makes you sound like a toddler trying to fit in with the big kids. Didn’t you read my letter? I think I explained everything pretty well.”

“I thought it’d be easier to get answers straight from the source, instead of sifting through all this.” A little guiltily, he tries to re-flatten the letter. “I may not be a CEO, but believe it or not, I do still have a life. I’d appreciate an explanation. About why you sent this letter, and also about why you sent a letter instead of an email. I mean, you run a tech company. Why use such an outdated method of communication?”

Another chuckle. Then, abruptly, Elijah’s voice goes serious. “So, deviancy. You know about it, right?”

Connor goes rigid. “You know I do.” Wait, is this a relevant question? Frantically, he glances back down at the letter, skimming it as quickly as he can, hoping he’s mistaken.

“Well, Cyberlife is partnering with the DCPD to try to figure out the cause of deviancy. The heart of it, so to speak.” He can’t be serious. Shaking his head a little, eyes wide, Connor stares down at the paper in his hands, and—oh. There it is. “Of course, we can’t just send an android in on its own. It’d be easier, sure, but the legalities of that are a little too tricky to handle, so we’re assigning it to a human partner instead. All on the down-low, of course, so you can’t go around bragging about it. Not that you would: you’ve never really been the bragging type, have you?”

“Why choose me for this?” he demands, voice sharp, vision blurring suspiciously as he glares accusatorily down at the paper. “Look.” Abruptly crumpling the paper into a ball, he tosses it into the mailbox, slamming it violently shut (and, for a second, vividly imagines hitting Elijah with that same motion). “I’m going to be perfectly honest with you. This has not been a particularly good week for me. And I really don’t need anything to make it worse. Especially—” Connor’s voice falters for a second. “Especially not something with androids.” And Elijah knows that.

“Well, you get along with Chloe well enough,” the man offers, even though that’s irrelevant: Chloe is an absolute angel, and anyone who doesn’t get along with her has serious psychological issues that they should probably discuss with a therapist. But Connor likes her despite the fact that she’s an android, not because of it—and frankly, even though she’s Chloe, being around her can still be so hard for him sometimes. And Elijah **knows** that. So why is he doing this when he knows what it’s going to do to Connor? “And I helped design the android, too. You’ll like it. It’s a prototype, so it’s pretty, ah… unique. Not just some run-of-the-mill machine.” His voice twists, amused. “Honestly, I had you in mind when I was designing it. Think of it as a gift.” And Connor can practically see the smarmy, punchable grin stretched across his smarmy, punchable face.

Calmly, he inhales, then exhales, fingers rubbing soothingly at the fabric of his pants. Despite his current inclinations, he doesn’t actually want to hunt Elijah down and put a bullet in his brain. He likes Elijah. Although killing him would be a momentary relief, and would certainly crush that unbearably smug attitude of his, Connor would ultimately end up regretting it. And also, he doesn’t particularly want to go to jail. It sounds unpleasant. “I don’t want an android.”

“Technically, you’re not getting one,” Elijah points out. “You’re just going to work with one.”

Then again, in the grand scheme of things, murdering him might actually be worth the potential costs. It’d be rather satisfying. Although, Chloe might not have anywhere to go if Kamski died, so that might be problematic. Perhaps he could offer to take her with him? They could wander around, evading the authorities and touring the world on a whirlwind adventure: like something out of a Hallmark movie about friendship and homicide. That sounds like fun.

Hm. So, either way, Connor ends up being forced to work with an android for an extended period of time. On second thought, maybe he should just make sure to save a bullet for himself.

Elijah clears his throat. “Is everything alright?” he questions softly, a little worry slipping into his voice (and Connor abruptly discards any thoughts of murdering him). “You said this week had been difficult. Is there any particular reason for that? Did one of them approach you, or—” He cuts himself off. “Have you talked to your therapist about this?”

He stopped showing up to his appointments about a year and a half ago. “Yes, of course,” he lies. “And no, nothing in particular has caused this, exactly. It’s just… difficult to handle, at times.”

“Well, let me know if I can help.” He sounds a little uncomfortable. Yet, despite the distress that this topic of conversation is causing him, he’s still attempting to be supportive. Yes, killing Elijah would definitely be ill-advised. Even though he can be conceited, and often infuriating, he still cares, and Connor can count the number of people who truly care about his wellbeing on one hand. Twice. “Hey, Chloe’s telling me I have to get back to work. I’m going to pass the phone over to her.”

Of course. “Goodbye, Elijah.” Absently, he fishes into his pocket, pulling out a quarter and feeling the comforting weight of it in his hand, the worn ridges around the rim, the smooth surface. See? Everything is fine. He’s fine. The situation is under control.

After a moment, Chloe speaks up. “It’s always nice to hear from you, Connor!” she cheerfully tells him. He can’t help but smile. Unfortunately, as she isn’t actually there with him, he just ends up grinning at his mailbox. “I hope you feel better soon. Elijah asked me to check up on your progress on the investigation, so I’ll be in touch with you soon. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“Actually, yes.” Making a face at the mailbox, Connor reopens it, grabbing the crumpled-up mess of paper. It might be gaudy, and ostentatious, but he’d been trying, at least. Besides, it might contain useful information. “Elijah’s interference with my routine today has been something of an inconvenience. However, as I am not currently there with him, I have been unable to properly express the extent of my frustration. Could you flip him off for me?”

At that, she laughs, voice musical. “I mean. Sure, if you want me to.” Faintly, there’s commotion: likely Elijah inferring what he’d asked and finding fault with his request. “Have a good day!” With that, Chloe hangs up, still giggling under her breath.

It’s easier to talk to her when he can’t see her LED. What does that say about him?

 

 

There’s a stranger sitting at his desk.

There is no reason for there to be a stranger sitting at his desk.

Frowning deeply, Connor stares for a long moment, half-expecting the man to disappear under the force of his gaze. Unfortunately, he doesn’t. Hm. Furtively, he glances around the room, scanning to see if anyone else’s noticed anything amiss about this situation. Tina’s the only one who bothers to make eye contact with him, and she just shrugs, smirking a little. Thanks, Tina. Helpful as always.

“Excuse me,” he calls out, wary, cautiously edging towards him. As an afterthought, he glances at the nameplate on his desk: sure enough, it still says Connor Stern. So he hasn’t been fired, then. That’s good. Of course, there’s no real reason for him to have been fired (or at least, none that he can think of at the moment). But, at the same time, there **is** a stranger sitting at his desk, and it’s good to verify these kinds of things. “You’re…” Lamely, he grasps for words. “You’re in my seat.”

The man glances up, straightening. Upon further inspection, he appears to be in his late forties or early fifties, with greying hair, tired eyes, and a rather eclectic fashion sense. “Uh, hey,” the stranger awkwardly greets, getting to his feet. “You’re Lieutenant Stern, right?” He reaches out a hand, in a clear request for a handshake. “Hank Anderson.”

Frozen, blinking rapidly, he stares at Hank’s hand, unmoving. “Just Connor, please,” he automatically corrects, spine rigid. “Is there something I can help you with?”

The question’s a little sharper than he’d intended it to be. Visibly uncomfortable, the man shifts, eventually tucking his offered hand back into his pocket with a grimace and a shrug. “Yeah, um, can I talk to you for a second?” Pointedly, Hank jerks his head towards the break room. “Alone.”

What.

Desperately looking for an out, he glances helplessly around the room. Unfortunately, Tina—useless traitor that she is—has stopped paying attention to the situation altogether, and no one else seems to have even noticed that anything is happening. Which is less than ideal, as he’s fairly certain he’s about to be murdered. Dead at thirty-two, at the hands of some chair-stealing stranger who’s wearing the most obnoxious shirt that Connor’s ever had the misfortune of seeing.

Well, actually. Now that he’s thinking about it that way, there are certainly worse ways to go. And in all honesty, he wouldn’t particularly mind dying before that android that Elijah mentioned shows up, or before he starts being assigned deviancy cases. Still, as a homicide detective, he’d rather not be murdered. It’s the principle of the thing.

“If you don’t mind, I’d rather stay here,” Connor neutrally states, closely observing him. Is he even supposed to be in here? “What are you doing here? Who let you in?”

“Just, fucking—” Roughly, Hank rakes a hand across his face. “Didn’t he tell you I was coming?” he snaps, jabbing a finger in Connor’s direction, looking distinctly annoyed.

Perplexed, he frowns. “I’m sorry. Who?”

“Christ. Alright, you know what? Fuck it.” Before Connor has the chance to process the situation, Hank’s hand is clamping down around his wrist, and he’s being unceremoniously pulled through the police station.

Yelping a little, he instinctively pulls back against the hold, trying to get away—and he hadn’t actually thought that this man was here to murder him before, he’d mainly just been joking, but now he’s seriously considering that to be a very legitimate possibility! Unfortunately, Hank appears to be even stronger than he looks: Connor can’t get out of his grip, can’t even him to falter.

As he’s stumbling through the police station, being dragged along, he makes direct eye contact with Tina. She blinks, stares for a long moment, and then raises her coffee cup and smirks.

Useless. Traitor.

Hank half-throws him into the break room, rounds on him, and speaks. “Okay, didn’t Kamski tell you there was gonna be an android coming in?” he demands, harsh, eyes narrowed.

Um. “Yes?”

“Alright, good. I’m the android.”

**Um.**

Blankly, Connor stares at him, eyes flicking over him. No LED. No android clothing. Not to mention, he’s never seen an android that didn’t look like it was in its mid-twenties or younger. “You’ll forgive me,” he cautiously says, edging away slightly, “if I don’t believe you.” While he knows that those experiencing delusions can often believe themselves to be something that they are not, he’s never heard of anyone who’d thought they were an android. Although, how did he know that Elijah had contacted him? Perhaps he’s a delusional Cyberlife employee, who had heard about the investigation and latched onto it.

Rolling his eyes, the man raises his hand, and—oh. And the skin melts away, revealing smooth white plastic. Hm. “How about now?” Hank asks, a little patronizingly. And, well, it’s admittedly hard to argue with that kind of logic.

Still overwhelmed, desperately trying to regain his footing in this situation, he swallows, tearing his eyes away from Hank’s hand. “You—you don’t look like an android,” Connor uncertainly states, blinking rapidly, attempting to process. “Or sound like one, for that matter.” He’s… well, it’s not that he’s never heard an android swear before, exactly. But he’s certainly never heard one swear that wasn’t a deviant. Besides, androids are calm, collected, unemotional, and Hank had just gotten frustrated and physically dragged him through a room full of people.

“Yeah, I’m undercover, genius,” the man drawls, sounding as if he believes his statement to be an obvious one—and, when Connor just stares blankly, frowns, condescension shifting into confusion. “Uh. You know I’m undercover, right?”

What had Elijah said again? “I was informed that I’d been assigned to an android, and that this was somewhat covert. However, I was not aware of the… apparent extent, to which this is the case.” And also, hadn’t he indicated that this android had been designed based on Connor’s preferences? What exactly does he think those preferences are?

Shifting from aggressive back to uncomfortable, the android pulls a face. “Shit,” he mutters, grimacing. “Alright, I get it now. Sorry. So, uh, basically, they wanted me in here passing as human. Why? Hell if I know. Something to do with it increasing efficiency, or testing social protocols, or some bullshit. Anyway. You’re allowed to know, and the guy in charge here—uh, Fowler? Fowler signed off on it. But nobody else is.”

Which. That’s.

Distantly, Connor shakes his head, blinking, feeling woozy nothingness threatening to draw him in. “Alright,” he murmurs, voice a little dreamy, staring at a patch of air for a couple seconds too long. He’s slipping. “I… coffee.”

Hank frowns. “Uh. What?”

“I…” No. He needs to focus. “Excuse me, but I haven’t had any coffee today,” Connor quickly improvises, nodding meaningfully at the coffee machine, calmly digging his nails into his arm until it threatens to bleed. “Could I have a minute to myself? I’ll be better able to function once I’ve had the chance to drink some.” Technically, he isn’t lying. He is highly dependent on coffee, after all.

“Um, sure,” he allows, although his voice is reluctant, and the way he inflects it sounds more like a question. “I’ll… yeah, I’ll just be back at your desk.” Vaguely, he gestures towards him. “Okay, just—come talk to me once you’ve had your caffeine fix.”

He leaves. Connor barely notices.

Androids. Androids, and deviants, and homicides, and humans, and androids and androids and androids and androids.

Calmly, he leans against the wall, closes his eyes, and lets himself go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hank: hi, i'm the dad sent by cyberlife  
> connor: ????


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've discovered that I really, really like writing Hank.

Okay, seriously, what the hell is taking that kid so long? “Connor,” he calls up into the attic, crossing his arms, more than a little exasperated. “What the fuck is going on up there?” What, did he trip and break his neck? Or just get distracted by something shiny, maybe? Either way, they don’t have time to waste on this shit. Plus, frankly, he’s kinda getting bored of standing around down here, tapping his foot, waiting on him for no good reason.

“It’s here, Hank,” Connor shouts.

Holy shit. Okay, never mind, that’s a fair reason for him to be taking his time.

All of a sudden, there’s a loud crash, and some guy’s flinging himself down from the attic, landing right in front of Hank’s feet. He’s wearing a grimy-looking android uniform, that’s absolutely smeared with something dark— **dried blood, DNA analysis: Carlos Ortiz, sample date: > 19 days**—and his arms are all banged-up, plastic clearly visible. So definitely the guy they’re looking for, then.

Looking surprised, all wide-eyed and scared and shit, the deviant stares at him, frozen. Looks like he wasn’t expecting anyone to have been standing right underneath the attic. Which is kind of an oversight on his part, seeing as Hank’d literally just shouted up at it, but whatever. Doesn’t really matter to him: in the end, it’s just gonna make it easier to nab the suspect.

**{TASKS >> GRAB THIS ASSHOLE BEFORE HE TAKES OFF}**

Yeah, that’s about what he figured. Should be easy enough. Quickly, while the deviant’s still all caught up in gaping at him, Hank lunges, slamming into him (with a little more force than a human coulda conceivably mustered, but oh well: whatever works) and tackling him to the ground. Of course, he tries to fight it, tries to push him off, but—unfortunately for him—Hank’s pretty strong. And also, this guy apparently hadn’t held onto the knife he’d used to stab Ortiz. Hadn’t really thought that one through, had he?

Also, where the fuck is Connor? “Hey, I got the suspect,” Hank calls out, pulling a face, making sure to keep a tight grip on the suspect. “Can somebody cuff him? I can’t hold onto this asshole forever.” Well, technically, he probably could, but they’re not supposed to know that. He has a cover. And also, more importantly, he doesn’t **want** to keep holding onto this guy forever. It’d get old, fast.

After a second, somebody steps in and takes the deviant off his hands, leaving him free to get to his feet and start looking around. Connor’s finally down here, scanning the scene, one hand pressed to his arm—and holy shit, he’s bleeding. Why the hell is he bleeding?

**{TASKS >> ASK CONNOR ABOUT ALL THE BLOOD, I GUESS}**

“What happened to your arm?” the android asks, walking over, vaguely gesturing towards his arm. Connor’s gaze snaps to him, locking onto his eyes. “Thought he didn’t have the knife.”

“It pushed me,” he informs, nonchalant. “Originally, it attempted to convince me to leave it. When I refused, it grew angry and shoved me. It appears I fell on something sharp in the process.” Thoughtfully, Connor tilts his head. “The deviant appears to hold resentment towards humans.” Yeah, Hank isn’t really all that surprised by that. This is the first ever deviancy case he’s ever actually done himself, of course: hell, they only let him out of Cyberlife today. But he’s seen some of the records of other ones, and yeah, hating humanity’s a pretty common theme, in all this. Not always, but a lot of them do. Honestly, he doesn’t really get it?

Well, anyway. The important thing right this second, now that the deviant’s secure and all that, is making sure Connor’s arm is okay. It’d suck if he, uh, got an infection and died, or whatever. “You gonna take care of that cut?”

Connor frowns at him, looking like he thinks Hank’s being stupid. “It’s not a serious injury,” he points out. “I’m not in any danger of bleeding out, so I will be fine. Thank you for your concern.”

Okay, yeah, that sounds like bullshit. “Connor.”

“Yes?” he questions, face scrunching up slightly.

“Take care of it,” Hank demands, arms crossed. And seriously, he’s not a human, so why the fuck is he having to tell one how to take care of his human needs? If anything, Connor’s the one who should be telling **him** these kinds of things. Although, Connor isn’t the one with a near-unlimited amount of knowledge in his head, constantly poking its way into everything he’s doing, but still. “Disinfect it and slap a bandage on it. For fuck’s sake, it’s not like it’s hard to do, and you don’t wanna get… tetanus, or whatever. I better see that thing covered. Got it?”

He’s blinking fast, staring, looking all disconcerted and shit. Like Hank’s the one being unreasonable here. “Got it,” he finally says—although, according to the android’s systems, there’s an 88% chance Connor’s lying to his face.

Stubborn piece of shit. If he doesn’t, Hank swears to god he’s gonna just hold him down like he did with that deviant a second ago and put the stupid bandage on for him.

 

When the two of them try going to watch the interrogation happening, someone pointedly clears her throat, stepping between them and the door. “The twins’re running it,” she informs—and man, that’d probably be a useful thing to know if he had literally any idea what the fuck she was talking about.

Connor freezes. Except, he’s trying to be all slick about it, so he slaps on the fakest-looking smile Hank’s ever seen, back straight, shoulders rigid. “It’s likely we’ve received a new case to work on by now,” he stiffly suggests, turning over to the android. “While informative, watching this interrogation would be a waste of our time, as we can just as easily read a report about it after the fact. We should go continue working.”

**{TASKS >> NOPE, GO WATCH THE INTERROGATION}**

“Um.” Frowning, he glances back and forth between the two humans, because yeah, he’s definitely missing context for this. Great. “Sorry, uh, I gotta go watch this.” Somehow, when he says that, Connor’s expression manages to get even more wooden-looking. “I mean—Christ, you know you don’t have to come with. Go do your, uh, super important work stuff.” Or whatever the fuck’s actually happening here.

Visibly relaxing, the kid slumps a little. “Yes. I will… go do that.” Before he’s even finished speaking, he’s backing away and getting outta there as fast as he can.

“You going in?” the woman Hank doesn’t know asks, smirking a little, eyebrows raised.

**OFFICER CHEN, TINA.**

**Born: 09/06/2009 // Police Officer**

**Criminal record: None**

Well, okay. Now he knows her. Or, her name, at least. “Uh, yeah?” he frowns, and it’d be really convenient if he knew who these twins are and why they’re getting this kinda reaction. Also, why she’s getting off on watching him be confused like this, because she looks thrilled right now. “That a problem?”

“Nope,” Tina says, shit-eating grin still plastered on her face.

Hank stares at her for a long minute, squinting suspiciously, acutely aware that he’s missing something here. But, you know what? Fuck it. Shrugging, the android opens the door and walks in.

Instantly, there’s a loud bang. “ **Twenty-eight** stab wounds,” Connor shouts, sounding all kinds of pissed-off.

Wait, Connor? What the shit? He just saw Connor leave! And, there’s another Connor sitting next to him: what the actual fuck is happening?

Okay. Well, either he’s been hacked, or has a really trippy virus messing with his programming, or there’s something seriously wrong with the stuff in his head that handles facial recognition, or Connor can teleport and also maybe clone himself. Great. Calmly, the android goes back over to the door, poking his head out and scanning the area. After a second, he spots Connor. He’s walking outta the break room, and—oh, Christ.

“Hey, don’t you dare drink that,” Hank yells over at him, scowling, and he’s been here for less than a day but he’s already **so** fucking done with this guy’s bullshit. “I know how much coffee you’ve had today. You’re gonna give yourself a heart attack, or something.”

Staring at him, no emotion on his face, Connor raises the cup and chugs the entire boiling-hot cup of coffee, not once breaking eye contact. “I’m sorry, Hank,” he calls over to him, crumpling the empty cup, looking like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth, “but I didn’t hear what you said. Could you repeat yourself, please?”

Son of a bitch. What a power fuckin’ move. He’d be angry if he weren’t so impressed.

Heaving a sigh, he steps back in the room. Okay, actually, they don’t look exactly like Connor, now that Hank’s looking at the two of them closer. The loud, shouty one has straighter hair and none of Connor’s little freckles (although, Hank’s analysis is telling him that has more to do with hair straighteners and concealer than anything else). The quieter one next to him’s taller, with lighter-looking eyes. So, not quite identical—

Wait a fucking second. Twins. They’re fucking **twins**. Jesus Christ, he’s a moron.

Okay, well—actually, in his defense, he would have put this together a lot faster if they’d said triplets. Clearly, there’s three of them, and that’s the part that was tripping him up, but sure. Fuckin’ A. Triplets. Woulda been nice to know about that a little earlier.

**{TASKS >> PAY ATTENTION, JACKASS}**

Uh, yeah. Sure. Now that he knows he isn’t malfunctioning or anything, he can actually go back to doing his goddamn job. The deviant’s staying quiet, but his stress levels are pretty high. Looks like Tall Connor and Scary Connor are handling the interrogation pretty well: classic good cop, bad cop kinda setup. Scary Connor pressures the guy for a while, then Tall Connor says stuff about the fact that he wants to help and he knows the android’s just malfunctioning and it’s not really his fault and all. That kinda shit.

“Why are you here, anyway?” Tina questions curiously, arms crossed. “I mean, you’re new, and you’re immediately working with Connor.” A snort. “And I don’t know how long you’ve been around him for, but he’s kind of an acquired taste. And he’s not exactly a social person.”

**{TASKS >> DON’T BLOW YOUR COVER // PAY ATTENTION, JACKASS}**

“I’m from a different precinct,” he lies, shifting a little uncomfortably. “They sent me here and decided to make me his partner. No fuckin’ idea why, though.”

She frowns a little, thinking about that, and then shrugs. “Alright.” Okay, good, looks like she actually bought that shitty story.

Glancing back over at the deviant for a second, Hank eyes him—looks like he’s gonna crack soon—then looks back at Tina. “So, uh.” Figuring more about Connor isn’t exactly part of his mission, of course, but still. “Why’d he react like that?” the android asks, tucking his hands into his pockets, leaning up against the table. “With the whole, uh, twins thing.”

“Last time Connor was in a room with the two of them, Caleb tried to shoot him in the face,” she informs—and, glancing at the look on Hank’s face, bursts out laughing. “Yeah, it was great. But also awful.” And, uh. Yeah. Yeah, that’s a pretty valid reason to for Connor to be avoiding them. Christ.

On the bright side, now he has a reason that they’d called them twins and not triplets, if they really get along **that** badly. “Any particular reason why?” he tests hesitantly. “Just cause, or…”

Helplessly, the officer shrugs. “I’ve only actually been friends with Connor for, like—maybe a month? So, I dunno. Never asked.”

Okay, so. Strictly speaking, this isn’t exactly a part of his job. Hank’s here to blend in, gather information for Cyberlife, try to figure out what’s causing deviancy while pretending to be a normal everyday human as best as he can. And he’s gonna do that. But, Connor really isn’t a big part of that? He’s supposed to work with him, sure, but not too much beyond that.

Here’s the thing, though. There’s something weird about this guy. And, if Hank’s gonna be working with him on all these cases, he kinda wants to figure out what his deal is. Mainly because he’s curious. But, also, it’d make working with him easier, and it’d also probably make him seem more human (kinda, maybe, a little). So, if his task list would agree to let him do that, that’d, uh, be pretty convenient.

**{TASKS >> PAY ATTENTION, JACKASS // FIGURE OUT WHAT THE FUCK CONNOR’S PROBLEM IS}**

Huh. It’d agreed to go along with his bullshit argument a little faster than he’d been expecting it to, but okay. He’s not complaining.

“Just say you killed him!” Scary Connor— **OFFICER STERN, CALEB** —is screaming, grabbing at the deviant, and Hank’s pretty sure the only reason he isn’t red in the face is because of that concealer. “Just say it!” He flings him back down into the chair, fists clenched, standing over him, and holy shit, that guy’s intense.

Tall Connor nonchalantly pulls Caleb back down into his seat. **DETECTIVE STERN, NINES.** What the fuck kinda name is Nines? “Look, we can’t help you if you don’t talk to us,” he calmly states, one hand resting lightly on his brother’s arm. “I know you don’t want to hear that, but it’s the truth.”

Blinking rapidly, the suspect stares down at the table, fingers curling up into tight fists, LED stuttering red. Looks like he’s weighing his options.

“He tortured me every day,” he finally murmurs, sounding like he’s talking to himself, and then—suddenly—glares up at Caleb, looking pissed-off. “You shouldn’t have told them I was there.” Oh. So it’s not just Hank who mixes those two up, then.

Somehow, the officer manages to get even angrier. “That **wasn’t** me—”

“But, you’re here now,” Nines hurriedly interrupts, tapping Caleb’s arm twice. “And, you needed to be found, um—you know you’re not supposed to be feeling this, right?” His tone’s a little stilted, clearly a little awkward, but he’s still managing to keep his cool. “You’re hurting, and you shouldn’t have to be. We want to help.”

“Wouldn’t have pegged him as the good cop type,” the android comments, pulling a face. Despite the fact that they’re triplets, he looks a hell of a lot more intimidating than Caleb and Connor do (although, given the way those two look, that’s not exactly saying all that much).

Beside him, Tina snorts, voice wry. “Yeah, no kidding.”

It takes another few minutes, but the suspect finally confesses. Okay, so, he did kill Ortiz. Not that Hank really doubted he did, of course, because the blood was kind of a dead giveaway, but it’s still good to have that on record. Sounds like he deviated because the owner was hitting him: a fear response. Which isn’t that surprising, given all those burns on his arms.

Eventually, after pressuring the guy a little more, dragging every last piece of information outta him that he can, Caleb glances over at the two-way mirror. “We’re done,” he decides, grabbing onto his brother’s arm and pulling him up.

When they’re halfway out of the room, the deviant starts slamming his head into the table.

“Holy shit,” Hank mutters to himself, eyes blown wide. He’s trying to destroy himself. They must have pressured him too much, made him start self-destructing. Fuck. Cyberlife still needs to disassemble the deviant and check out his parts and programming and all that shit, and they aren’t gonna be able to learn anything from him if he shuts down.

**{TASKS >> DON’T LET THE DEVIANT OFF HIMSELF // FIGURE OUT WHAT THE FUCK CONNOR’S PROBLEM IS}**

Yeah, **way** ahead of you. Christ. Sprinting into the interrogation room, Hank glances around, assessing the situation. Nines’s trying to physically hold the guy back, a shell-shocked look on his face, while his brother’s hovering nervously over the two of them. “You gotta stop it!” Caleb frantically yells at Nines, hands fluttering in midair, then—expression shifting from anxiety back to anger—glowers at the android. “Stop **doing** that, you stupid machine!” Wait, should Hank be offended by that? Eh, whatever.

Hatred plain on his face, the suspect glares back at him. Then, all of a sudden, his eyes dart away, focusing on Nines’s gun.

Oh. Fuck.

**{TASKS >> SAVE CALEB // DON’T LET THE DEVIANT OFF HIMSELF // FIGURE OUT WHAT THE FUCK CONNOR’S PROBLEM IS}**

Quickly, Hank lunges forwards, grabbing the human’s arm and yanking him the fuck away as fast as he can. Sure enough, the guy goes for the gun, violently snatching it, and fires twice: once at the officer, once at himself. Luckily enough, Hank manages to drag him away in time. The shot misses, the bullet embedding itself somewhere in the wall.

Great. Okay. Woulda been better if the guy hadn’t shot himself in the head, but okay. At least no one’d gotten killed… except for the guy who’d, y’know, **shot himself in the head**. Fuckin’ deviants.

“I wanted it alive,” Caleb complains, pouting down at the trashed android. Now that the interrogation’s over, he sounds a little less pissed-off, a little more like a sulky kid. And yeah, it’s kinda inconvenient, but at the same time, Hank’s personally just glad that he managed to keep the deviant from shooting this kid.

“Thank you.” Blinking, the android glances over: Nines’s staring at him, wide-eyed, and he sounds a lot quieter now that he’s not desperately trying to convince someone to listen to him. “It…” Glancing down, swallowing, he looks at the gun. “Thank you,” the detective repeats helplessly, shaking his head. And he isn’t really putting a lotta effort into specifying what for, but Hank’s guessing that it’s for not letting the deviant shoot his brother. That’s fair enough.

Shoving his hands in his pockets, he shrugs. “No problem.”

Suddenly, frowning, the officer narrows his eyes at Hank. “I don’t recognize you,” Caleb curiously says, arms crossed. “Are you new here?” Luckily, he doesn’t sound suspicious, or accusatory, or anything like that—so, he hasn’t somehow immediately picked up on the fact that he’s an undercover android. That’s good.

**{TASKS >> FIGURE OUT WHAT THE FUCK CONNOR’S PROBLEM IS}**

Well, uh. This is probably a bad idea. But, on the other hand, he’s probably not gonna get another chance like this, so you know what? Fuck it. “Yeah, I’m gonna be working here for a little while on some cases,” Hank vaguely explains, waving a dismissive hand, although he keeps a close eye on their reactions. “Actually, they’ve got me partnered with Connor.”

Both of their expressions immediately change. Jackpot.

“Yeah, good fucking luck with that,” Caleb spits, looking all angry, and wow, it’s really weird to hear him swear. He doesn’t know why, but it doesn’t… shit, it just **sounds** wrong.

Nines just looks tired, running a hand over his face. “Caleb, don’t,” he quietly murmurs, reaching out and squeezing his brother’s arm. “Please.”

Clearly fuming, biting his lower lip, the officer glowers off into space for a second. Then, he shakes his head. “Alright, fine. Fine.” Heaving a sigh, Caleb glances back over at Hank. “Well, I hope you enjoy your time here,” he stiffly says. “And thank you for helping me. If you need anything, feel free to come talk to me.”

Well, that was less helpful than he thought it was gonna be. Oh well. “Thanks.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone seen what happens if -60 shoots Connor? Because let me tell you, that scene's one of my favorites.  
> I think I stole -60's name being Caleb from MintChocolateLeaves's Youtuber AU. But I might not have. Either way you should check it out it's great
> 
> connor: (blinks)  
> hank: look at him, being all mysterious and self-destructive and shit. christ. he’s gonna get himself killed pulling that kinda crap. take better care of yourself you asshole. you know what, fuck it, i gotta figure out what this guy’s problem is. god. look at him. and stop getting yourself hurt you stupid son of a bitch i’ll fuckin kill you if you die  
> connor: ???

**Author's Note:**

> To no one's surprise, I'm still an indecisive mess who can't decide whether or not to include ships. It's gen for now, but I'll update the tags if I'm writing it and it takes a shippy turn  
> (this isn't going to be hankcon either way, though. don't get me wrong, i can appreciate that ship, but i can't write it. hank's just a tired dad here. also there are a Ton of reverse aus with that ship that're better than anything i could ever write so yknow)


End file.
